The Lesser Evil
by Glayve
Summary: Lord Voldemort has been attacked and the consequences are serious, as he has been turned into his younger self again, lost a considerable amount of his magic and is being confronted by his Death Eaters who are not all too happy with him. What exactly is going on? / will probably be slash / takes place during 6th year
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, obviously. It is JK Rowlings, whereas the following story was written by me.**

**Before you read this, please keep in mind that this is my very first attempt at writing fanfiction as well as the first time that I have done anything like this in English. I'm German so there might be quite a few mistakes in there. It's also quite short, since I'm really not sure how it will be received. It'd be great if you could give me some feedback concerning the writing and the characters. Or well, anything you might deem worthy mentioning^^  
Also be aware that the story is probably going to be slash. Enjoy :)**

Faintly he could hear whispers all around him, a quiet murmur that seemed to rise in volume as he slowly regained consciousness. He felt rather light-headed and it was hard to remember what exactly had happened.  
There was a dim yellow glow permeating through his lids that suddenly became a lot brighter, as if somebody had pushed a _lumos_ right into his face. He groaned, irritated at whoever dared to make him even more uncomfortable, almost missing the sharp intakes of breath presumably coming from the people closest to him.

Confused and still very much annoyed Voldemort tried to open his eyes, shading them with one of his hands against the offending light source. A heavily shadowed face was hovering above him, apparently stilled into a shocked rigidity. Recognizing the long, silky blond hair, he felt himself relax slightly, having unconsciously tensed up at the prospect of being discovered by the wrong kind of person. He also noted that they were in the same place as before he had blacked out, right on the edge of a storm-ridden cliff. In the far distance Azkaban was barely visible, a dark, patient monster situated camly between the raging waves.

"What happened, Lucius?", he finally questioned. His voice sounded a bit strange to him, somehow more even and lower than usual. He did not like it. He also did not like the following silence that seemed to linger far too long. Normally Lucius would not offend him by staying quiet, none of his Death Eaters did. They would never dare, fearful of his raging outbursts and the overwhelming desire to torture some sense into them.  
Except that that particular emotion was oddly absent at the moment.  
The Dark Lord furrowed his brow, wondering briefly about the lack of fury inside of him, before dismissing it and pushing himself up into a sitting position. Malfoy hastily moved further away, until he was kneeling beside him, staring at him in awe. "What is wrong with you imbecile?!", Voldemort demanded. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Tell me w_hat happened_?"

At that, Lucius seemed to become aware of the fact, that he was able to talk too. "My - my Lord?", he asked hesitantly. Voldemort suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he reached for his wand and was relieved to find it still in his robes, as if he had never even drawn it. And maybe he had not. How could he tell; after all the most recent events were blatantly lacking from his memory. The only thing he was sure of was that they had been attacked. Which was utterly ridiculous in itself, since no one in their right minds would want to confront the most powerful Dark Lord in history. Well, leaving aside the Potter brat of course. However he was quite sure that the young wizard would not dare to come out of hiding during the summer break, when he was securely out of reach for about everyone other than Dumbledore and that damned Order. The headmaster himself would not seek him out, as long as he did not know how to properly kill Voldemort and even then he might not dare confront him due to the prophecy's foretelling.

Oh why was he bothering? His Death Eaters should be able to tell him. At least when they were not as dumbstruck as they appeared to be. They were gathering around him, eyes glued on his form as if he were the most curious thing they'd ever seen. Increasingly annoyed by their unresponsive behaviour he climbed to his feet, his cloak billowing around him. The Dark Lord let his gaze wander, studying their expressions cautiously, taking note of the subtly distrusting glances they were throwing him. It had obviously something to do with his appearance, since he had not done anything out of the ordinary up until now and could not explain their demeanour in any other way. He frowned, turning towards Lucius again, who had followed his lead and stood up in the meantime.  
"Explain", he said simply, forcing himself to remain calm.

The younger wizard inclined his head, even though it lacked the usual amount of fearful respect as far as Voldemort could tell. "It seems we have been attacked as soon as we arrived here. However, none of us can remember by whom and what precisely they have done. Most of us regained consciousness at the same time, indicating that we may have been hit by a stunning hex simultaneously." Voldemort's frown deepened even further as Lucius swallowed nervously after that and did not appear very comfortable continuing. To his surprise Avery stepped forward to bluntly state: "You don't look like our Lord."

The words caused the others to tense immediately, some even daring to draw their wands to hesitantly point them at him. Malfoy had backed away from the Dark Lord so as to not get between the opposing parties. He looked just as sceptical as the rest of his Death Eaters, albeit not yet raising his wand.  
Voldemort though was feeling increasingly wary, suddenly very aware of the cold stone beneath his bare feet, the icy wind tearing at his too big robes and the curls of dark hair dancing against his forehead and neck. Instead of reproving Avery for his impertinence, he let his gaze drop to his hands, holding them in front of his torso to examine them. It was painfully clear that those were not the hands he was used to. They were still elegantly slender, but they seemed utterly human, something he had not seen in himself in a very long time. He lifted them up to touch his naked head that was – of course – no longer hairless. The locks felt full and soft between his sensitive fingers, making him wonder how he never had missed this. Admittedly though he had not. Becoming a snake-like creature was a small prize for all the knowledge he had gathered over the years. It had been proof of his strong will and of the fact that he had ventured further than anyone else before him. His appearance might have been a useful tool a long time ago, but he no longer had to pretend and charm people to do his bidding. Fear worked easily enough thereby deeming his distasteful looks valuable.

He shook himself out of his musings, dropped his hands to his sides and contemplated the doubtful Death Eaters in front of him. He should just leave them here to fend for themselves. After many of them had suffered in Azkaban for the last few weeks, they would have trouble without him, no matter how many or how strong they were. He was the one keeping the enemies at bay with his presence alone. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at them, thoroughly irritated by now.  
"Has it not crossed your tiny minds that my change in appearance could be the doing of our unknown assailant?", he asked, voice lowered to a menacing whisper. At the same time he let his magic flare in a threatening display of power. As he did so, he felt a wave of dizziness hit him, but he ignored it determinedly.

Avery however did not seem impressed. "That is precisely what I was thinking", he answered darkly, "Anything could have happened while we were out of it. You could be an impostor."

"An impostor? And why, mind, would I want to make myself look like this, if I wanted to take the great Dark Lords place? Wouldn't that be counterproductive? And are you really suggesting that someone could overpower_ me_ that easily?" Voldemort sneered disgustedly, closing the distance between him and the rebellious Death Eater, until Avery's wand almost touched his chest. "You seem to be begging for my undivided _attention_", he drawled, cold eyes never leaving the man's face. It was terribly satisfying to see the fear creep into the wizards features, especially so as he attempted to hide it. For a moment it seemed that he would finally back down, but then he straightened up, suddenly towering over his Lord with a new-found confidence.

"I know what it feels like in my Lords presence. I know the extent of his magic and the suffocating effect it can have on all those close to him. And what I know above all is that his magic feels dark and deadly and utterly captivating in its dangerous beauty", he said vehemently and Voldemort briefly wondered if he had ever heard anyone describe him like that before. "But most importantly", Avery continued, positioning his wand so that the tip lay directly above the Dark Lords heart, "I can feel your filthy excuse of magic and it is nothing like my Lord's."

Dreadful silence followed his words, Voldemort to stunned to think of a response. It could not be. It was impossible, how could the essence of his very being, his magic, be mistaken?  
Perhaps the Death Eater was confused, he could have been hit by a Confundus Charm or the Imperius Curse. Though that would mean that the others too were being turned against him, seeing as they were all aiming their wands at him by now. None of this made any sense at all.  
He took a step back, furious, flaring his magic again only to notice that it was indeed different. Weaker. So much weaker than he was used to. And the dizziness returned, making his eyesight blur. He could not deal with this right now, he had to think.  
Distracting the assembled Death Eaters with a powerful burst of wandless magic directed their way, he disapparated.


	2. Chapter 2

**First of all I'd like to thank you all for your lovely reviews! I was so very delighted :) **

**And thanks to _Marten_ for pointing out a few mistakes. I actually had no idea that punctuation worked that way in English, I obviously never paid enough attention to it. I hope I did it right in the following part of the story.**

**Anyway, as you can see I don't bite if you correct me on my mistakes, so please do so whenever you spot some. I'd like to add that I'm trying to stick to British English, but I'm pretty sure that I can't properly distinguish American and British terms all the time. I'm also certain that I sometimes use words where others may fit better and that I get confused with structures in sentences. **

**So a little help with those points would be appreciated. Of course you don't have to do this, if you just want to say what's on your mind, that's perfectly fine with me :)**

**This chapter is not very action-filled (as was the one before), but that will change with the next updates. I'll also try and write the following chapters quicker than this one.**

**I really hope you like it. Enjoy :)**

The air was heavy with dust and the smell of old furniture, as Voldemort stumbled into the entrance hall of Riddle Manor, feeling strangely exhausted.

Before he had entered, he had cast several warding spells in case any of his Death Eaters decided to check in on the place and the continued strain had not been helpful for his already weakened state. He had deemed those precautions vital, because he seemed to be much more vulnerable than he was used to. He could imagine that some of his followers might actually try and find him here, the so called _impostor_, if only to present him to their real Lord the second said Lord was found.

He sneered at the empty hallway, picturing the horrified looks on their faces when they realised their mistake. Oh he would love the upcoming quality-time with Avery. Not that he did not appreciate the fact that the man was obviously able to think for himself for once – he had just chosen the wrong time for doing it.

Still fairly irritated Voldemort climbed up the old creaking stairs, turned right after reaching the top and picked one of the adjacent chambers. Most of these rooms were for guests, but had of course not been in use for decades now. The meetings he had held here had mostly taken place in one of the spacious sitting rooms on the house's ground level or in the basement.

Up here everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. The colours were faint and the atmosphere seemed somehow depressing, as if age and loneliness were weighing the whole house down.

He stopped in his tracks, bemused. Was he growing sentimental? Voldemort had never felt anything like this before whilst staying at the manor, it was quite disturbing and he did not like it one bit. He was already suspecting that the change his body had gone through was not restricted to his physical appearance. It had seemingly affected his magic too, and in a negative way at that. It was only plausible that his mind would have undergone some alterations as well. He had to figure out to what extend and how he could reverse whatever had happened to him. It was concerning, to put it mildly, especially his loss in power.

He raised his right hand and made a sweeping gesture, concentrating on his magic and willing the dust away. It did not work. A simple cleaning charm and he could not perform it. At least not wandlessly. Still, he was used to casting much more advanced charms without his wand, so this should really not pose a problem for him.

He tried again, focusing more magic on the task, but it was futile. The room stubbornly stayed the way it had been when he had entered it, motionless and dirty. Slowly he pulled his wand from his robes and repeated the spell, not precisely relieved when it worked this time, but less agitated than he had expected to be.

One of the after-effects, he supposed, was that he felt somewhat numb and uncaring about the whole thing. He was pretty sure he would have thrown a full blown temper tantrum by now, had he been in his right mind. He would also have started torturing Avery into submission as soon as the defying, disobeying words had come out of the wizards mouth back at the coast. The fact that he had done none of those things proved to him that the change had effected him more than initially thought. Or he had gone straight into shock. Which would be_ ridiculous_. And that word would not apply to him. Ever.

Frowning he stepped in front of the lone mirror decorating one of the walls. His reflection stared back with dark brown eyes instead of the red ones he had become so fond of over the years. If anything had ever interested him about his disfigured features, it had been the blood coloured irises he had attained. They were of a different kind of beauty, instilling fear and shock in those who saw him and so _unique_. Now they were gone, replaced by a familiar, but nevertheless _ordinary_ colour.

He grimaced, twisting his handsome face into a disgusted expression, noting that his body appeared to have reverted back to his teenage years, somewhere between fifteen and seventeen. He could not believe it, he was a bloody child again! He barely controlled the urge to frustratedly pull at his hair at that. Maybe he was going through puberty, his mood-swings were certainly indicating the possibility. Voldemort turned away, before the teen in the mirror could annoy him any further. He had to think.

Mere hours before everything had gone awry they had been at Malfoy Manor, his latest headquarters, where most of his Death Eaters had assembled upon his command. He had laid out his plans concerning another break-out at Azkaban. This was necessary due to the failed mission within the Ministry Building this summer, when Lucius should have brought him the prophecy about himself and the Boy-Who-Lived. The whole thing had turned into a disaster instead, including the destruction of the prophecy as well as the discovery by the Ministry that the Dark Lord had risen again. In addition, several of his followers had been imprisoned. So there. Not exactly successful. His fury had known no boundaries, but well, even he could only rage for so long.

Subsequently his collected forces had assaulted the great prison of the Wizarding World, setting the inmates free and causing as much destruction as they could along the way. Voldemort had also regained the loyalty of the dementors which he had sent away to disrupt what little order was left around Azkaban, while he and his followers had watched from the shore, high atop the cliffs. It was there where everything had changed …

"_Finally they'll get what they deserve, those filthy little muggle-lovers!" Macnair was saying with malice in his gruff voice. A few of the others chuckled approvingly, although many seemed to have to force the sound out through their teeth. They looked haggard, with sunken eyes and trembling limbs, after-effects of their stay at Azkaban, even if it had only been a few weeks. _

_All of them were staring out onto the sea, where the inhuman shapes of the dementors could be seen, some hovering above the dark prison, others floating away towards the far shore. The air felt chilly and the howling wind only added to the strange atmosphere surrounding the place. _

_Voldemort was pleased with the events. Everything had gone according to plan. No silly Order had appeared out of nowhere, Dumbledore had apparently not dared to show his face and the opposing forces from the ministry had fled as soon as they had seen him. The Wizarding World was terrified of him. They would learn how to kneel soon enough. _

"_My Lord," someone said and he turned his attention towards a seemingly nervous Lucius Malfoy. The man certainly had fallen in his favour since the battle at the ministry and he showed him the contempt he felt by scowling the second his blood-red gaze settled on him._

"_Yes, Lucius?" he said coldly. Malfoy immediately paled and shrunk back. Pathetic. _

"_My Lord, I … I wish to apologise for my failure," the Death Eater answered, almost whispering in fear. _

_That reminded Voldemort. He had not yet had the time to deal with Lucius directly, since the blond had been taken by the Ministry after the battle in the Department of Mysteries. Instead his anger had been focused on the man's son, Draco, who had better not fail him like his father did or he would not live to regret it. Lucius was not even aware of his son's involvement yet. He could feel his mouth curl into a sadistic smile. _

"_Oh?"_

_Lucius shuddered at the sound and dropped to his knees in order to placate him."My Lord, please forgive me! I did my very best, but that stupid boy ..."_

"_Exactly, Lucius. The _boy_. Do listen to yourself once in a while," Voldemort all but whispered in a menacing kind of voice that made clear he did not want to hear another word from the other wizard. "A small, _fifteen year old boy _and his little _Gryffindor friends_ were all that stood between you and my prophecy." He pressed his non-existent lips together for a moment and tried to reign in the sudden burst of anger swelling inside of him. It had been a good day so far and Lucius grovelling was ruining it. _

"_But my Lord, the Order -"_

_In an instant he had his wand out. No words where uttered as red light shot out the tip and hit the blond man before him. A scream disrupted the rather calm atmosphere and the other Death Eaters tensed, some of them even backing away from the scene. Malfoy was writhing in pain, twisting and turning to get rid of the terrible sensation the Cruciatus Curse was forcing upon him. _

_Voldemort just watched him quietly, satisfaction coursing through him at the sight. It would be a long while until he would entrust Lucius with another mission again, if ever. The man had failed him more than enough in losing his diary and destroying the prophecy. To say he was disappointed would be a major understatement. _

_He turned his back on the tortured man, flinging his wrist to end the curse for the time being. _

"_I am not done with you yet, Lucius. We will continue our talk later," he stated icily. _

_Then Voldemort faced the rest of his followers, intent on sending most of them away and to remind the elect rest of the task they were to perform if Draco Malfoy succeeded in bringing them to Hogwarts, as a loud CRACK sounded from somewhere on his left. _

And that was the moment his memory grew fuzzy. Voldemort groaned, frustrated with himself and the way everything had turned out in the end. If he had thought the prophecy-incident had been a disaster, he did not know what this was supposed to be.

He sat down on the unused bed in the room, massaging his temples and trying to restore the lost memories simply by thinking the events over and over again. A few unconnected images and voices flew at him the more he concentrated, but there was nothing precise, nothing that could give away exactly what had happened. Everything was muffled and blurry, dark shapes and bright lights and a strange, disconcerting feeling of loss, as if something important had been taken away from him in a rush. He froze, eyes flying wide open.

It could not be, could it? That someone had just sauntered in on the scene and taken away his powers somehow? As far as he knew such a feat was impossible. A wizard could exhaust his magic all by themselves, but it could not just be extracted by a third party. Bound, yes, but not withdrawn.

Still the facts seemed to defy reason this time. Voldemort could feel that some part of his magic was missing, as if it had been cut off. Worst of all, if he focused, he could make out that what was left was pure and untainted, giving off the sick aura of light magic. He gritted his teeth.

Never before had he felt this insecure and weak and _humiliated_. Whoever had done this to him had _defeated_ him, had _taken _from him and he could not even remember it. He wanted to torture someone for this, but there was no one here and if there were, he might not be strong enough to win a fight with them.

A low chuckle left his mouth conveying utter disbelief. When had he ever had to seriously consider if he really wanted to confront someone? Except Dumbledore there was no wizard out there who was on the same level as he. At least that was what it used to be like. If his powers did not return, he would lose his status as the most powerful Dark Lord in history. Voldemort would cease to be. He would be completely_ ordinary_.

"_**No**_," he hissed, slipping into Parsel tongue. "_**I'm still Slytherin's heir**_." And he would get his magic back. If there was a way to take it, then there was a way to give it back as well. He would find it. He would hunt down who did this and then they would regret ever being born in the first place.

Taking a few calming breaths, Voldemort refocused his attention to the next problem. Namely his youth. Why had he changed to the appearance of his teenage self? Was this another consequence of the attack? It definitely seemed to be, yet it did not make much sense. If his body had for some reason reverted back in time dependent on the amount of magic he possessed, he should have been turned into an infant. However, as he did not know what kind of spell or even ritual had been performed in order to rid him of his magic, he could not exclude a connection between the events.

Still there was an idea nagging at his mind. He knew a spell that could be responsible for the change in appearance, although the thought was worrisome. It was a spell he himself would have had to have used. And he would have done so only if he was in danger of being killed.

Voldemort slowly lowered his gaze to the wand settled between the fingers of his right hand. His mind was running wild. He needed to know if it had been that particular spell … needed to know if the attack had had any more lasting effects.

He stood, walking towards the mirror again to stare intensely at his reflection. A sullen looking Tom Marvolo Riddle stared back. He smoothed out his expression, forced a warming smile on his features and tilted his head a little, until he was just a handsome, innocent boy with not an ounce of evil inside of him. Charming. That would have to do.

A few seconds later he had dispatched the wards and disapparated. He reappeared in front of the red brick wall of a seemingly closed department store. With a quick glance over his shoulder he made sure that the area was deserted enough and then proceeded right through the store's one big, unassuming window.

Miles away, a green-eyed boy opened his eyes to blink uncomprehendingly at nothing in particular. He'd had the strangest dream just now. Only he wasn't sure if it'd really only been a dream.


End file.
